


Eftersom morgonen är långt borta

by Patchouli



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Biting, Blood, Breathplay, Established Relationship, First Time, Implied Stalking, M/M, Mild Gore, Orgasm Denial, just rough sex in general, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 07:39:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19127563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patchouli/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: "At the beginning of every eternal infinity there is an infinite ending and thus a painful apathy of lifeless emotion."Jhin makes a dire request.





	Eftersom morgonen är långt borta

„ _Am Anfang jeder endlichen Ewigkeit steht ein ewiges Ende und somit schmerzvolle Gleichgültigkeit lebloser Gefühlsregung.“_

1

 In hindsight, perhaps, the request is somewhat daring; even presumptuous, and is afflicted with a cheesy sentimentality that both of them are not comfortable with. But now it is inevitably and irrevocably present; it hovers over them like Damocles' sword, with an uncertain and questionable outcome. But Jhin is far from regretting his words. He's not the kind of person who repents, and he's even less the kind of person who thinks of taking off his pride like one would take off a coat, even if the situation might require it.

Thresh seems to be perplexed and irritated that there are deep furrows running through the abyss of his unreal existence. His silence turns out to be long and terribly exhausting. In the end, he lifts one of his hands, almost with a suppleness and a tender feeling of appeasement. "Unfortunately, this is not possible for me." If the subtle tone of regret dwells in his ominous voice, then it is difficult for Jhin to understand. Ultimately, he decides not to have heard more than a misleading acoustic deception; triggered by the state of being surrounded by a supernatural and demonic being that acts against all earthly laws. Or a lack of sleep, which seems more obvious and less dramatic to him.

 Something leads Jhin to believe that he doesn't tend to tell him the real reason for this rejection, and he should have the decency to not fathom it any further. Nevertheless, the question of decency towards Thresh may seem quite absurd to him, considering the fact that they both have too little ethical and social morality to care about such virtues. And it is precisely for this reason that he's curious enough to inquire: "Why not?"

 "This body," he begins slowly with a ghostly echo in his voice and performs an expansive gesture with both hands, "knows no feeling." The answer makes Jhin lift a questioning brow. "You don't feel anything?" he goes on, and although the statement does make fundamental sense to him, it seems surreal enough to question it nonetheless.

 Tilting his bald skull to the side, he arouses the feeling of assessing him with a questioning look of scepticism, as if he finds it irritating that his statement was not understandable enough. Thresh then raises one of his arms and rolls up the sleeve of his heavy coat to reveal a glimpse of his forearm. His skin is grey to greenish. Dull. Blunt. Thresh grasps the sickle of his hook in his other hand. Indifferent and carefree, the lantern floats calmly and submissively in the air next to him. Slowly he cuts a long, deep line from the bend of his elbow down to his wrist. The skin tears apart in a gaping, ugly wound. Broad and dark. Almost entirely black, the flesh underneath reveals itself to him. Similar to a deep abyss, whose bottom is impossible to be seen. No blood. And no emotion on his part, even though there is no simplicity in interpreting an expression in his eerie appearance anyway.

 "Only dead meat," he plainly announces, and then rolls the sleeve down again, unimpressed and just as unperturbed, as if he had not just cut into his own flesh.

Jhin nods understandingly. Another question creeps into his consciousness, even if it may seem absurd and foolish to him in view of this being. Quarreling with himself as to whether he should consider expressing it, he licks his lips thoughtfully. "Don't you miss it?" He feels the idea of absolute numbness dull and, moreover, truly unsatisfactory. Is it not an inadequate condition; a state which never brings satisfaction and is tormentingly inadequate. It would be much less wearisome if the memory of the past had never existed. But doesn't it always surround it, like a gradually fading painting that you long to see for one last time?

 Thresh keeps a long and treacherous silence. He gives the impression that the question is reason enough for him to take the time to indulge in his thoughts more than just for a moment. Perhaps, it suddenly occurs to Jhin, it hits him far more than the Warden is willing to admit, for he suddenly turns his gaze aside and picks up the lantern again. He almost swings it from one side to the other like a pendulum. "It is enough for me to feast on the pain of others."

 Jhin reaches for the brush again and half-turns toward his canvas. The green shimmer tells him that Thresh is moving through the room into his vicinity. "If so," he finally replies and dips the brush in fresh paint. Red. This painting lacks red. "Then why do you always seek my presence?" Turning his head slightly, he meets him with a sneer and eagerly awaits his reaction.

He builds himself up next to him; intimidating and threatening. And if it weren't for the fact that they are now familiar with each other, it would impress him. Although Jhin certainly doesn't deny how caution and discomfort are always present in his company and never fade completely. Anything else would be fickle and the execution of his own death sentence. "Your presence?" It sounds more like an unbelieving repetition than a serious question of incomprehension about the meaning. Thresh laughs. Noisy and hollow. It is unclear to interpret whether amusement or scorn comes out of him. Surely both. Then his imposing figure slowly bends down towards him. He comes so close to him that the flames of his eerie head would have to tickle his cheek if they were not based on the strange quality of being painless and without warmth. It is more like a cold, even icy breeze blowing through the open window towards midnight, daring to touch his skin. "What makes you think that I'm not here to taste your pain as well?" His voice is like cool rain that almost gently pours down on him, letting the fine hairs of his neck stand up. Tiresome and with all his will, he struggles against the impulse to tremble but fails.

 Jhin takes a deep breath and suppresses the suddenly so vividly budding desire to withdraw from him; to refuse. "What makes you believe ...," he continues slowly; with a muffled, soft tone; the otherwise so gloomy rumbling of his words wrapped in ghostly whispers. "I'm not just playing with you?"

 The suddenly growing restlessness in his heart, bridling and pushing back to the place where it may have originated; with the deep human instinct to flee from the threat of the unknown and the tangible, Jhin breathes in long and deeply again. It resembles a heartbroken sigh. "Oh, I have no doubt that that's why you're here," he finally replies with a touch of pleasure in his voice. Then he lifts his lips to a narrow, but meaningful smile; less mocking, but no less shady. "You can't even imagine how little I care."

His words must have moved something in him, for Thresh is silent again for quite a while. Jhin turns once again to his painting to conceal the expectation that begins to grow in him on the occasion of this behaviour. Patiently, he brings colour to the canvas, while the silence of the night finds its way into the room. All of a sudden, Thresh turns away without saying another word. His movement is so precipitant and fierce that it makes his coat blow. Then he's gone.

2

 The next midnight visit has yet to come. Jhin wonders whether he had succeeded in frightening away this evil and cunning creature; that he had pestered him and injured him in his pride, perhaps even humiliated him so that he would refuse to show himself. Or whether the Warden, far more probable and less presumptuous, has simply lost interest in him and already has a new toy in store - for mortals in the face of an ancient, immortal spirit are nothing more than that. And if the latter is true, there is still uncertainty as to why he's still alive. It is certainly not associated with deceptive relief to have so frivolously escaped the supposedly so certain death. What if it is not exactly this deceit, this perfidious game; the hypocrisy of security and the comforting feeling of hope for gradually returning rest, until the memory of what happened fades and it is nothing more than the assumption of having been the victim of a once dark and spooky dream. Only to then reveal himself again in full and manifold mercilessness. Suddenly and unexpectedly, devastatingly, taking that very soul, which has always been his own since the beginning of their dance, and which he will now only reappear to claim once and for all with full hardness and abhorrence.

The thought of an eternity full of unimaginable torments of hell makes him gloomy; it is the resignation from the inevitable and not the budding fear of an innocent man of the unavoidable, undeserved suffering. Wouldn't he be faced with an afterlife full of pain and horror in the face of his nefarious, corrupt spectacle and work anyway? His art, breathtaking and undoubtedly sublime, demands its price. Flesh and blood. Canvas and paint. Immorally expensive and forbidden exquisite. For the movingly glorious and wonderful, all those fortunate whom he has chosen to serve his work and to receive the sublimity of his talent are needed.

  
The gloomy autumn moon cast pale light on the scenery. Silvery and faint like an old coin. It is difficult to work in the sparse light and it requires devotional caution. Slowly he pulls his hands out of the moist, light flesh. In the moonlight, the skin of the lifeless body looks pale like bones; the blood shines like the mirror-smooth film of black, thick ink. The ribs stretch up like bony fingers framing the dark, black throat of the opened chest like a wreath. It's as if they want to reach for him to stop him from seizing the inside. In his hands, the heart feels warm and soft. For a moment he pauses abruptly. In the dim light it resembles nothing more than a black lump and has little in common with the charming, flattering symbolism. The sight makes him wistful; almost sentimental.

_Does a monster have a heart?_

3

 He observes him; behind the veil of the impenetrable and hidden he lurks like a restless and unbridled animal; like the evil spirit he's in the end. Waiting, though uncertain, for what he hopes to await. Eternity is free for him to become aware of it, if it were not for the gruelling fact that it is denied to mortals, and that the artist dies with every breath and advances towards the end. What is it, then, that it afflicts and upsets him with confusion and restlessness; that it forces him to refuse him and withdraws from him, even though his renunciation grieves him; that it hurts him. Burning. Drilling. Hot. Deep and bitter.

 On the table there is a heart in a jar. With swelling curiosity he looks at it for quite a while as it floats in its container within formaldehyde. He inevitably asks himself the gnawing question of what sense it might make. It takes much more than a heart to give him liveliness, if Jhin thinks of serving the necessary purpose. Perhaps it is also merely the impulse of a disturbing approach of unstoppable morbidity. And nonetheless touching; almost overly sensitive in a way, that it seems tasteless and disgusting to him. Something moves inside him; intangible and not to be interpreted. Hidden and camouflaged; daringly familiar. Just like the memory of a pleasant, soothing fragrance with which one shares and connects something decisive and essential. It is difficult for him to put his finger on it and to strive for an inspiration, an idea that would bring him knowledge.

 "One heart alone won't make me feel," he then announces, tapping against the glass with one of the sharp nails. Nothing. Dead and empty; just like himself. From the corner of his eye he observes how Jhin, filled with terror and zeal, perceives his presence and lifts the gaze from his book. He would smile and amuse himself if he could. Instead, he feasts on the entertaining glow of dizziness and profound confusion that flits through his face, which he may believe Thresh doesn't notice. "But I appreciate the gesture." Something in him threatens to break out of him. Not convinced and sure what it could be, he turns away from the glass.

 Jhin scrolls to the next page of his book. Daring the pitiful attempt to be unimpressed and uninvolved by his unexpected appearance, he turns his gaze away. "You're here," he replies, briefly tethered and sharp. The short-lived touch of treacherous cheerfulness in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by Thresh. However, since he has little interest in unnecessarily upsetting his changeable mind, he will refrain from making a remark to that effect; he already seems strangely hostile and enigmatically moody anyway.

 "You sound so surprised." The word, which would actually be appropriate, is ill-humoured, but he renounces it. Thresh tilts his head slightly to the side and tries to bounce a non-existent brow. Fewer steps are required before he can open up to him. Pausing, he looks down at him. "I don't remember saying that I wouldn't be coming anymore."

 He has little understanding left for his inappropriate, piqued behaviour. It would not be the first time that he, regardless of his motives, abruptly disappears. But something is different. It eludes him to realize what it could be and why he suddenly attaches such importance to it.

 Raising his gaze slowly, he throws him a glance that Thresh doesn't know how to interpret other than profound disappointment. Jhin closes the book almost devoutly and puts it aside on the side table next to the canapé. "You've been waiting for a long time."

 Slowly the veil of incomprehension lifts for him. Gradually he gets an idea of what Jhin might suggest, but doesn't express openly. Surely there is more to the whole thing than the obvious, because the man is sometimes very exhausting in his character and moreover not the friend of clear, obvious words.

 "The Harrowing is coming." He himself is astounded by the soothing tone, which is more like an apology than a statement. His own behaviour is alienating to him; to try to justify himself, where in the end he doesn't owe anything to this person. But something is different. It draws its weak circles through the distant corners of its corrupt soul and urges it to whisper good will. "I have plenty to do." He would express his burgeoning anticipation if only he were capable of a smug and promising smile. Then he gives him a penetrating look, driven by curiosity. He cautiously bends over to him, examines the astonishment in his face because of his strange behaviour and makes a sound of intuition. Satisfied and almost inspired by his suspicions, he nods to himself, confirming himself.

Amused, he observes how the eyebrows of the sharply cut face contract critically and sceptically, even suspiciously. Jhin crosses his arms in front of his body; as if he had an urgent and unconscious need to protect himself from him and to refuse him. "What?" His voice is cutting and so delightful in the attempt to appear threatening and intimidating to him.

"You missed me." Thresh cannot help but give his words a certain degree of enthusiasm and delight. Just in the next moment he tests himself on a concealing cough and soberingly finds out that it sounds more like a rotten and grumpy murmur. However, it doesn't diminish his expectation of the reaction he will reap to his comment; if it also seems logical and inevitably clear to him, there is no certainty that it will meet with acceptance without further digressions and evasions. Nevertheless, no matter what answer Jhin may make to him, it inspires him in a peculiar way that has always remained hidden from him and puzzles him what it means.  
  
Jhin gives him a glimpse that makes him seem to doubt whether Thresh is still master of his intellect; outraged and just as deeply struck. "Not at all," he disagrees dust-dry and rejectingly sober.

 

4

 Thresh likes to watch him. From afar. Hidden. In the dark and covert. When he's unaware and thinks he's completely alone. Every now and then he asks himself the question whether Jhin shouldn't have suspected it; perhaps he doesn't have the suspicion of being observed and haunted after all. If he thinks he feels his presence, he really doesn't let it show well; he has to keep it to his advantage, because he manages to deceive him and moreover to make him puzzle and brood.

Often, at midnight and far beyond, he's still awake. Restless and manic, he's busy with one of his innumerable morbid works, for which he has so much devotion and affection, that it may disturb someone with a weak and pure heart, but it is earning him sincere recognition. He likes his work; his art, as he calls it. It is vicious and cruel; sometimes disgusting and grotesque. He has talent. The moments in which he meets him while he sleeps are therefore very rare. And if he catches him one or two times sinking into one of his dreams, he usually stays by his side. Not necessarily because Thresh has a deeper, perfidious meaning about it. He likes the sight of it. Calm and almost ridiculously harmonious. Quiet.

Something must have awakened him, because he blinks against the darkness with a sleepy look. For a moment Thresh wonders if he may have fallen into carelessness in all this time and if he's the reason for his sudden and unexpected awakening. A moment later, however, the room fills with his quiet and tortured sigh. Thresh tilts his head in surprise and recognizes the reason for this little misinterpreted tone. Jhin is hard. He would amusedly lift a smile to his face if only he could.

Jhin rolls restlessly between the pillows. Uncertain as to whether he should give in to his desires and ultimately succumb to them; opens up. Timid and reserved, as if he were afraid of being nothing more than a human being. With drives and needs. Clumsy, his hand begins to wander deeper before it moves purposefully between his thighs. He refuses to give himself a deep and uninhibited sound while he puts himself between his fingers. Gently and endlessly slowly.

It would be noble to withdraw now so that he can keep his most intimate thoughts and desires hidden. But Thresh is truly not decent. Especially as curiosity and fervour grips him; both almost force him to stay and watch the spectacle quietly and silently. He doesn't want to deny himself this, even though he could; but he's gnawed at by the unyielding and corrosive thirst of unquenchable desire.

He's not pretty. He never was and never will be. Blunt. Simple. Someone who fills the gaps in the crowds; unseen, unnoticed. Thresh wonders if he would have noticed him in any other life; if he would have looked at him and actually noticed him. Or would he have just given him a glimpse and passed him by without further ado, like two lines that are infinitely close and yet never touch or cut each other? He doesn't know for sure. Possibly this doesn't play a role at all, as it's only assumptions and confusing fantasies. At the moment he's everything. Beautiful and provocative how he winds himself between the sheets and gives in to his desires.

His sounds gain in passion with every touch he makes. He relentlessly brushes off the initial restraint, blossoming to perfection. Smooth and longing, he excites and torments himself; his excitement only restraining to such an extent that he fully exhausts its pleasure and baths in it.

The desire to touch and feel him is great; not completely unbearable and tormenting, more like a sting that is deep in one's own flesh and that drills ever further and more devastatingly into that very flesh, but in fleeting moments of inattention almost falls into oblivion. Surely it is easy for him to imagine what it might feel like. Skin to skin. Touching. His fingers braided into his own. He remembers the past, though not as good as it used to be and not in the joyous carelessness as if those days had only recently been his life, but it is enough to give tinder to his longing. And an idea, a sweet memory, ultimately remains nothing more than that. Untrue, transient and never frugal. To weep for it and to stir up grief because of it is often foolish and destructive. _You should have just killed him._ He can. He will. Still. This possibility of their common end always exists. It is omnipresent. His soul belongs to him. Him alone. But what about his body ...?

The question is superfluous, but only almost. Certainly everything about him belongs to him. In this, as in the next life. To all eternity and beyond. Until the sun falls into the sea and the last dying star has hurled its screaming cry into space. Nevertheless, it gnaws at him, sucks on him, hits its claws deep into him and never lets go of him. Is that fear what he feels right now? Fear of loss. _You have the whole eternity open and fear that a simple person could leave you and betray you?_ Because he cannot give him what he wants, what he longs for. What he longs for himself. How absurd.

Over Jhin's lips goes his name with an almost lamenting gloomy tone as he climbs to the climax of his ecstasy and completely satisfies his hunger. In Thresh, the charming and soulful sound of his miserable exclamation, something shatters. It triturates him from the inside out; cruel and merciless.

Carefully he stretches one of his hands through the darkness towards him. Only to pause at the last moment and withdraw it again; hesitating. And with the annoying insight that a touch without any feeling is worthless and sad, bitterness grows in him. Hot and pungently sharp.

Desire tortures him until he vomits. A sensation not related to the body from the deep and spooky abysses of his dark soul condemned to eternity. Insatiably demanding and supernatural haunting. If he were more human than a deadly, satanic beast, it would be possible that he would be devoured, crushed between its teeth and his then mortal remains undigested spit out again. Scratching and biting; eats through his rotting, undead spirit. He wants him. He must have him. But no matter how deeply this sorrowful desire may burn into his bones, he cannot fulfill it. His supernatural form is incapable; split from mortal sentiment to physical devotion, his appearance is a prison to him. If he doesn't lack heart and soul, no matter how corrupt and depraved they may be, he ultimately fails to find a suitable body.

Thresh has enough.

 

5

The autumn wind howls like a tormented animal in front of the windows. It storms. For days it just doesn't stop raining. The Harrowing is getting closer and closer; an always threatening and promising event, of which one can never be aware and certain, even though it is recurring. Always daring and destructive, it is to such an extent shattering to the core that to think only of the darkest nights of the year teaches every living being ice-cold shivers. He himself is no laudable exception; Jhin is in awe of the monstrous and demonic turmoil of these days. If he's not otherwise devoted to superstition, he's not a fool.

The autumnal harbingers of Harrowing remind him why he's rejected with waiting. This should grieve him, but much more soothes his impatience, which seems absurd and simple to him. It is only logical and understandable that the Warden now indulges in his cruel occupation elsewhere in this dark and gruesome time of the year. His visits are never accompanied by regularity; sometimes they are more frequent and sometimes they are less frequent. Nevertheless, he cannot avoid the shocking realization that his absence really hurts him. Cold and bitter, it drills itself into the depths of his heart; it allies itself with the miserable feeling of unrequited longings against him. Jhin drinks tea. In front of the windows the wind whips rain and dead leaves. He looks at the glass on his table.

He misses him.

 

6 

Out there, the wind howls; like a banshee, its shrieking, screeching sound sweeps through the pitch-black night and with it the mist, which draws all living things on its way, every being it encounters, with it into the unknown, dark hell of damnation. The Harrowing is there. Three days and three nights it will rage through the land and completely devour everything that crosses its path and which has the misfortune to have a soul and a beating heart of its own. Horrifyingly, the undead figures with this impenetrable, black veil of death and destruction pass by the windows and doors to find a tiny loophole or a careless fool; someone who has been naïve enough not to protect himself from them and uninhibitedly, in the fickle zeal of intrepidity, grants them entry.

Jhin has drawn the curtains so as not to witness their macabre activity as it carries them past its windows. Wisely foreseeing that he cannot bear the horrible and grotesque sight of their damned presences. To have become a corrupt apparition and witness to it, often before, so that it fills two whole lives, is enough for him of threatening madness. He doesn't tolerate more; even though he may be closer to madness than many others and is quite fond of it. But this damned spirit is already torturing and agonizing him enough and only the cynical thought that he has still not blessed the temporal and that all pain must therefore still be open to him is the only drop of bitterness for him. Should it not be in the interest of this monster to torture his immortal soul instead of his transient heart? And is he not perhaps only the victim of a perfidious and malicious gimmick; is he not entirely responsible himself for his suffering and miserable grief, for what could such a terrible creature bring to him as all-encompassing indifference and the little malicious joy he draws from his pain?

His own feelings seem pathetic to him, and they also serve the hated cliché of unrequited, consuming desire. Although he's reluctant to do so and, to a certain extent, has made an ironclad attempt to renounce everything, in the end he has failed. Now there is nothing more than the bitter intuition that he has to submit and yet cannot win. Putting the wine glass aside, a sigh of resignation goes over his lips. "How unfortunate."

"I agree." Jhin gives a frightened sound of surprise. He's just really happy about the fact that he put the glass down before, because he's not sure if it would have slipped away in his horror. Astonished and ashamed at his own exclamation, he puts one of his hands to his lips. In the dubious light of the candles he turns his gaze through the room. he's seized by a feeling of fear that is not entirely comprehensible, and stares into a dark corner from which he suspects the voice mocking him. Surely, he soothes and comforts his faster beating heart, his frightful reaction only touches on the fact that Harrowing knows how to teach fear to everyone and stirs up the breath of discomfort and anxiety in everyone. And over and above that, it likes to play many a sinister trick on mortals. "Although not more unfortunate than already", he then hears with a smug undertone in the very voice that may seem strangely soft to him now and reminds him little of the hollow sound he's otherwise familiar with. Without a doubt, it is still his, though different and peculiarly pleasing. Human.

Afflicted by suspicion, Jhin narrows his eyes to thin slits and peers into the shadows. Grasping his heart and freed from his initial shock, he quickly regains his old courage. "Did you come to get me?" he asks bluntly. The assumption that Thresh has finally decided to dissolve their strange-looking connection is dangerously close in view of this dark and vicious night. The intuition about this doesn't cause him any grief or worry. A little pathetic or maybe even melodramatic for his taste, but very coherent and almost atmospheric.

In the corner the shadows now move like a living, black animal; similar to the dung that is doing its terrifying mischief in front of the windows. Waving and in thin swaths he flickers restlessly, before slowly and with noticeable deliberation a tall figure emerges from him. Pale and gaunt. Jhin is immediately astonished and blinks only incomprehensibly, since the astonishment leaves him speechless after all.

With a few steps Thresh moves purposefully and overzealously towards him. His gait seems stilted and stiff. He still towers over him by at least one head, even though he must have lost some of his imposing size in order to dress in this scrawny, pale shell. "That ...," he then begins, whispering and mysterious. His breath smells moist like wet earth. In the candlelight his sunken eyes glow like green ghost fires. "Depends entirely on what you imagine it to be."

They are as close as never before; so close that he feels each of his few flat breaths on his cheeks. He looks at him forcefully and still with a certain scepticism. Perhaps Jhin dreams a most unfortunate daydream, born of his deep desires, the hidden longings, and the gloomy magic that Harrowing has always indwelled, leading many a time to lead mortals by the nose to run blindly into their certain doom. "You are so...," he begins slowly and disparagingly, searching for the right word to describe his sensations and pauses for a moment. Gradually and creepingly he begins to realize what he's trying to reveal. He can't necessarily clearly put a finger on it.

"Handsome", Thresh holds against it and lifts his mouth to an amused smile full of teeth, crooked and broken, obviously very entertained and impressed by his own reply.

" _Different_ , I wanted to say," Jhin finally ends his sentence calmly and comes for a reason that is not obvious to him, not to smile either.

Thresh snaps his tongue in disparagement at his words and tilts his head teasingly to the side. Every one of his movements seems disturbingly unnatural and unstable, as if every emotion, every blink of an eye and every look itself were infinitely alien. It gives the impression of looking at a fleeting image that is reluctant to be looked at and for which one fears that it will fall apart or disappear, unless one knows how to refuse this wish. "Do you just want to stare at me?", the question penetrates to him; in his tone, subliminal impatience and an undeniable frustration about Jhin's rather discreet behaviour resonate with him. Certainly, and without even considering his answer or waiting for it, he weaves their fingers together; his hands are rough and cool, but not unpleasant. A smile still surrounds his dark, unusually discoloured lips, though it seems much darker and more promising. "Or was your request nothing more than empty gossip?" No more than a whisper; wicked and shady beyond all measure, so much that it makes him shudder.

It doesn't take more to free Jhin from indecision and unbelief. Suddenly, as if he had never before been in trouble with himself about this absurd situation, his misgivings have disappeared. And it may well be that, as it dawns on him, while he opens himself up to him and closes him in a tight, even stormy embrace, he has only dared the lamentable attempt to preserve himself and his last remnant of pride.

They greedily meet; like starved, unbridled animals. Their lips find each other eagerly and hastily. He feels his fingernails digging into the hollow part of his back as he draws him closer to himself. Strictly and harshly he leads him and just as devotedly and willingly he opens his mouth to let him in unconditionally. His kiss tastes like a cold grave. His own hands wander ingloriously and purposefully, as if blindly knowing what was happening to him and as if he lacked not a moment of experience. Disillusioned, however, he realizes that the long cloak is an obstacle to his project, which is why his fingers suddenly come to rest, only to find their way under the heavy fabric.

Thresh murmurs; it is not quite clear whether it is the result of encouragement or rejection, but at the moment he only separates himself from him to the extent that he can help with his awkward activities. Due to his less imposing size, his coat is more of a long robe and like such he shirps it up so that his hands slip under it unflinchingly. Then he hangs on him again; with tongue and teeth. One of the cool hands wraps itself around his neck strongly and unobtrusively. He takes his breath away, while he takes it deep and bossy and Jhin hardly sees himself able to return his kiss.

With a choked sound he struggles for air. His fingers are so unyielding and persistent that he begins to feel dizzy and, in addition to the growing feeling of undeniable excitement, the approaching panic stirs. Even though he may have lost his stature, he certainly doesn't lack the necessary strength. He could, probably without hesitation and in a fraction of a second, break his neck with his bare hand. The narrowness is unbearable; the muffled pressure is endlessly piercing. Jhin twists the eyes in view of the threatening blackness, which collects in the edges of his field of vision like black ink.

Completely unexpectedly, he finally detaches himself from him. In the semi-darkness his eyes sparkle eerily and unnaturally. Slowly, but with noticeable reluctance, he loosens the grip around his throat. Hurriedly, Jhin gasps for air in fast breaths. For a moment he had the irrefutable certainty that he would kill him. Dazed by fresh oxygen and his fear, he shudders visibly. Thresh licks his lips thoughtfully and smugly before raising them to a contented smile. "Now look at yourself," he replies with a low voice close to his ears; his hands quick and eager to get rid of their clothes. "You're already completely exhausted, and we haven't even started yet."

In response to the rather arrogant remark, Jhin simply snorts pejoratively. Even though his neck hurts as if he had swallowed rusty nails, he refrains from giving in to the impulse to touch it in order to relieve the nagging pain. He won't give him this triumph. Instead, he meets his hands halfway; clearly more composed, the initial rush of his desire has now faded to a leisurely, but no less present, feeling, he effortlessly takes the annoying coat off his shoulders. "You overestimate yourself," he contradicts; his words are hoarse, they are more like a rasp.

In this respect, Thresh gives a played appreciative whistle of himself. His lips rise to a knowing, broad smile. In the pale light his crooked teeth seem grotesque and horrible. They resemble more those of a voracious animal than a halfway human being. "Is that so?" he inquires with amused undertone in the deep voice. Jhin wastes a moment wondering whether he's asking for a serious answer or whether his pursuit is purely rhetorical in nature, in order to mock him. He no longer finds a clear decision, let alone a response. Their lips meet again in a thrilling and overwhelming way. Wildly and frenetically, he forces him to surrender; he lets him lead him. Again, he struggles with his breath; fights more against him than he's able to meet his exuberance and licentiousness. Completely without the help of his strong hands, which are otherwise busy. Their bodies pressed close together; tightly entwined, he drags him with him.

Halfway along their more or less very complicated path, Thresh would have been much more purposeful and hasty if he had allowed himself the time to separate from him only for the moment, he pauses. He pushes him with his back against the wall abruptly and with little care. Slowly releasing the kiss, he bites his lower lip, albeit not strong and fervent, but no less painful. Checking the same with his tongue, Jhin notes to his strange regret that he's not bleeding. In the darkness that now surrounds them, far away from any light, he believes that the green eyes still shine. Possibly the assumption is very close that his excited and hardly reasonable mind slowly begins to play a trick on him and tries to mislead him. Aware of this fact, the sight nevertheless makes him shiver, even though it is not entirely due to the eerie and supernatural alone.

Once again, his fingers wrap threateningly around his neck. This time he stops and tries to refuse his plan. The weight of his body pushes him back and abruptly stops his rejection. He wipes his hands to the side with a little bit of insignificance. "Will you be good." His voice is more like a throaty growl; warning and merciless. They snuggle up intimately, and while his fingers once again intolerably lace each other around his neck, the other one drives between his legs, uninhibited. Jhin tries to catch his breath with an unfortunate, miserable sound. He's overwhelmed. His grip is considerably more intense than before; his nails penetrate deep into his skin. To the same extent that his fingers wind themselves tightly and oppressively around his throat, his touches are unrestrained and irresistible. Inevitably, Jhin comes to push through his back in response to the impulse and pushes into the hollow hand with hardly any discipline left. He plays with him relentlessly and resourcefully. Growling, he moans; tormented and suppressed, in the absence of donating breath. His arousal mixes with the lightness of impending unconsciousness. Jhin winds himself between panic and ever-increasing desire. Thresh is unyielding and willing to push him to the edge of his limits. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away and opens his lips again to struggle for air that is denied him. Undecidedly, he digs his own nails into his pale shoulders; hoping that by doing so he would make Thresh understand clearly enough that he's about to suffocate miserably.

The next second, he drops him and retreats. His lips play with a self-sufficient smile. Standing a step back, he's gracious enough to let him breathe. Excessive and dizzy, Jhin sucks air into his lungs; he staggers amusingly. The unpleasant feeling overwhelms him, everything revolves around him and he joins in. The seconds pass in which he stops to breathe calmly and in a controlled manner, in order to gradually catch himself again. He blinks at the darkness. Thresh waits lurking. He doesn't know exactly whether he's still smiling complacently, but he doesn't have time to think long and hard about it either, because their lips meet again. This time lovingly, almost tenderly. The rest of their way he holds his hand almost maudlinly and takes him with him. And Jhin follows him; blind and submissive.

Arriving in the bedroom, he suddenly drops his hand. "On your knees," he commands him, and when his tone of voice doesn't allow him to talk back, Jhin unbelievably raises a brow above it. He isn't sure whether this request can be truly serious, which is why he blinks once or twice and is ultimately required to give Thresh a highly questioning look. With little enthusiasm he purses his lips. Thresh, on the other hand, rolls his eyes; obviously very close to the frustration of his unruly behaviour.

"Get a move on," he asks impatiently and then puts on a smile in the next moment, which can't be darker and creepier that it goes right to Jhin's core. "Or do I have to force you? Because believe me, my heart, you really don't want that ...", he continues. His voice is as soft as black velvet. His gaze sparkles with something profound, almost horrible, evil and auspicious; far removed from his so far certainly coarse, but at least largely decent mind. Jhin swallows it as heavily as sadly. The ignorance of the possibilities that reveal themselves to him when he disobeys him and refuses to obey his orders arouses an unpleasant and frightening feeling in him. But above all, it gives him the certainty of not wanting to know what to expect if he seriously annoys Thresh. Something inside him is trying to get through to him right now. Maybe it is the remorse and regret that are trying to make themselves heard from the furthest corner of his conscience. Jhin ignores them. Instead, he finally complies with his appeal and lets himself sink to his knees. For remorse, he finds out almost amused, it's a little too late.

Waiting, he watches him take control of himself. In Jhin, the feeling of indecision and expectation forms a tight and heavy knot in his stomach. He swallows tensely, while Thresh finally turns to him; perfectly hard. "Let's see if your tongue is at least good for something else when you can't kiss," he makes a mockery of him. In fact, it's reason enough for Jhin to be angry and with his flickering, blazing anger at the contempt he's been shown, he suddenly feels willing enough to prove himself.

He hesitantly takes him between his lips. His tongue flatters him; less determined and of noticeable restraint, he lacks on the one hand the necessary experience and on the other the unrestrainedness that Thresh certainly expects of him. Carefully and gently he ensnares him. He feels his fingers slowly go through his hair and, encouraged by the gesture and confirmed by it, withdraws for the moment to take him deeper into his mouth. More able and trusting than before, he plays with him. Teasing and artificially shy, he lets his tongue revolve around him; massages him. Only so far that he must feel it fleetingly, but far from sufficient to appease his hunger and desire. Above him he hears his murmur, which is somewhere between frustration and lust. For a short moment he pauses and enjoys the control he has over him at this very moment. He can feel him trembling as he coquettishly and teasingly gives him as little as possible. Then Jhin swallows around him; hard and firm. It is enough to get Thresh to push him demandingly. Not up to it, Jhin tries to withdraw reflexively because of the pain. His fingers pull his hair bravely and coarsely and prevent him from separating from him before he even manages. He makes a sound of protest.

"Keep still." He moves his pelvis ruthlessly; he pushes hard and with little consideration between his lips. In order not to choke, Jhin opens his mouth wider and lets it slide deeper into himself. Thresh smiles contentedly; his eyes sparkle maliciously. "Open your mouth, my darling.” Jhin, as ordered by him, submits, albeit reluctantly and with little chance of resisting. The tight grip around the tuft of his hair gives way, although he doesn't completely let go of him and patiently and skilfully forces him to give himself quietly and docilely. His rhythm is fast and ungracious, but controlled. Uniform and almost reserved, even if it doesn't help to curb his own gag reflex. Even opening his mouth further doesn't save him from the unpleasant feeling of choking. More than that, it gives Thresh the necessary leeway to move more blatantly within him. Above him he hears him sighing comfortably. With every movement he makes. Again and again. The tip hits deeply and hard against his throat. Tormenting and pitiless. He stops the reflex to get rid of him and pull his head back. It ends in a breathless groan. Jhin swallows awkwardly to stop the horrible feeling and not to run the risk of vomiting. Thresh buries his fingers in his hair with an energetic grip. Once again, he drives himself brashly into him; so unspeakably deep and violent that the pain briefly takes his sight.

Then at last he pauses. For a moment he dwells in him, before he slowly withdraws from his mouth with a slightly delicate, damp sound. Jhin swallows again; suppressing the feeling of nausea, he merely coughs. Thresh smiles cheerfully. He gently strokes back a few strands that have fallen into his face. "Good boy." Jhin is not very pleased about the remark, he forgives the features and sparkles hostilely at him from half-open eyes. "Shut your mouth. You talk too much." His voice sounds busy and infinitely rough. Thresh laughs briefly at his half-hearted attempt at a counter. Then he pulls him back to his feet and gives him a short kiss, albeit no less intimate. Only to drag him with him into the sheets. His hands are almost everywhere.

He observes him by candlelight as he purposefully opens one of the drawers and begins to search in it. Astonished, Jhin cannot avoid lifting his eyebrows in horror. He feels caught and exposed in a strange way. Nervous and gripped by bias, he licks his lips. "How did you know that?" Thresh bends down deeply to him; so close that he can almost feel his lips on his cheek. His voice is no more than the familiar melodic whisper that usually accompanies him. "You would be surprised if I told you what things I already know about you..." _Oh._ The presumption that tries to get through to him and sneak a way into his consciousness makes the heat crawl in his face like a treacherous, sneaky beast. In order not to have to give himself completely the nakedness of his embarrassment, he turns his gaze away. Thresh makes a strange sounding noise that comes very close to a delightful yet dark giggle. Highly inappropriate, but obviously amused. "Well well, my darling," he replies rebukingly as he leans back a little to be able to continue with his plan. "We have no time for false shyness."

Again he's above him. A mischievous smile on his lips. He kisses him again. Hot and intimate. His fingers penetrate him unusually carefully, almost smoothly. To his surprise, the expected pain is missing. He meets the realization with a certain disappointment. Nevertheless, the feeling is still uncomfortable and strange, even if this may be due to the cold of his hands. He doesn't believe that it is possible for him to get used to it in any way. Her lips loosen; Thresh wanders deeper. He begins to move slowly within him. Jhin cramps on the unexpectedly devastating sensation; can feel him deep inside and around him as everything in him tries to contract. For the moment Thresh comes to rest in his movement. "Relax”, he rules over him, albeit not with excessive force, but all the more soothing. "The worst is yet to come." His tongue glides on; deeper. Jhin closes his eyes as if it would help him find his way back to control. "I thought," he begins to occupy and gasps for air the next moment, while Thresh begins to move in him again. Slowly, stronger. "It would hurt more.”

Thresh narrows his eyes in amazement over his objection, perhaps even briefly irritated. He pulls his eyebrows together with a critical look and looks at him for a while. "The first time should never hurt", he opens benevolently. On his features a stealthy grin is visible and Jhin realizes right at this moment that he must have missed it to have a face that is capable of doing just that. "But if you prefer pain, we can arrange it." He buries his head between his legs. His tongue explores him; extensively and greedily. Playfully he licks over the tip. Jhin shrugs shaken. With a single pull he takes him lengthwise into his mouth. Jhin is dizzying; less of the sight alone, even though it would be perfectly sufficient to deprive him of his intellect. Hard and unbridled he pushes into the damp, warm confinement that surrounds him; hardly timid and encouraged by the incomparable feeling. If Thresh must have felt him deep in his throat, he simply seems unimpressed. Instead, he moves in the same unswerving, steady beat of his fingers. His tongue tickles him.

Jhin gasps hoarse and trembling. He comes more or less clumsily towards his rhythm and meets him. Resolutely and greedily he takes him deeper into his mouth, as if he had made the stubborn decision to literally devour him. His tongue touches the underside of his shaft several times, fleetingly, but very deliberately and calculatedly. Jhin draws in the air sharply. His heart beats up to his neck. Quickly. Hammering. Then suddenly and completely unprepared he hits the sore spot in him. So unbelievably violent that for a moment he sees black in front of his eyes and twitches uncontrollably.

"Well, well." Thresh's tone oscillates between amusement and mockery, after he slowly releases him agonizingly, but his fingers still remain calm in him. Again he touches the bundle of nerves; obviously more determined than before and Jhin tosses and turns under him; helpless, at his mercy. "Stop it," he snarls hoarsely and makes a weak attempt to detach himself from him. "No." His tone is so austere and far from compromise that it encourages him to bend over and pull together. Jhin shudders in a wave of his fever, while Thresh excites him. Mercilessly. Powerful. He submits; still squirming. He sings for him, unreserved; groaning and still hoarse. His body trembles. He swallows heavily. A sound goes over his lips, which he himself can only describe as submissive whimpering. he's so tense and trembles so strongly with lust that he must be very close to climax. "Please," it comes out of him between a long, heartfelt sigh. Quiet and probably barely audible. "Please, I can't ..."

Thresh stops. Abruptly and without warning. For a second, he believes, it gives the impression as if he had obviously annoyed him and he had lost interest in him. Nevertheless, it gives him time to catch his breath and calm himself and his heart. He continues to tremble, though not quite as uncontrolled as he once did, while the feeling of redeeming ecstasy gradually wanes, leaving him unsatisfied instead. Carefully and patiently Thresh pulls his fingers out of him. The dull, remaining feeling seems to suggest that he's still in him. He can feel his own pulse deep inside him as he still hammers against his spot. Again, Jhin draws the air deep into his lungs and releases it in a long, stretched sigh.

Thresh looks at him with a strangely determined look. Hungry and tired of patience. "Turn around," he commands cuttingly. Jhin follows his request without much rehearsal and although he's suspicious of the things he has to expect now, he forbids himself to question them. Moments of silence pass when Thresh takes the time to position him for himself. "It's time I teach you manners,” he whispers from behind into one of his ears. Jhin senses how the hairs in his neck rise up in anticipation and uncertainty.

Ruthless and demanding, he penetrates him. Jhin's fingers get caught in the sheets looking for purchase. His lips make a tortured sound as Thresh continues deeper into him, filling him, taking him. Completely occupied. His hands gently sweep through his hair; almost lovingly. Despite the courteous, almost touching gesture, Jhin closes his eyes for a moment; he enjoys the unexpected, sudden tenderness, accompanied by a comforting shiver.

Then pain; deep, cold, cutting. The fingers close roughly and harshly around some of his strands. Thresh pushes violently and mercilessly into him. A moaning between misery and surprising spectacle slips from his throat. He squirms himself under him; undecided whether he wants to be far away from him or meet him. The hardness and mercilessness penetrates into the furthest corners of his soul. Tears gather in his eyes. Every blow hits its point of brutality. Jhin groans; his arms are unable to hold him any longer, so that he's forced to lower his upper body into the clammy pillows. Only to offer himself more openly and willingly; to surrender.

Jhin comes in a violent wave of ecstasy that makes him waver. Before his eyes black little stars dance and form confused patterns. He closes his mouth after realizing that he must have opened it to a suffering cry. He still feels strangely electrified; inside he feels his desire rage like a hungry, unsaturated animal seeking redemption. He's so agonizingly hard that he drips with unsatisfied excitement. Only marginally does he perceive that Thresh didn't come with him.

Above him, close to one of his ears, he hears sardonic laughter. Quiet and dull as it only slowly penetrates to him and his confusion. He blinks. "I control you." Slowly he withdraws from him. The sudden emptiness feels unnaturally terrible. "Tonight you are all mine." The words make him shiver; from the cold and the far-reaching meaning of this statement.

Thresh straightens up with him. His fingernails pierce his hips as he lets him glide on his lap. He penetrates him again, hard. Deeper. More intense. Overwhelmed by the exhaustion and lust that still take hold of him, Jhin gets dizzy. His lips are suffocated by a painful sound. The fullness is hardly bearable; piercing and hot. Thresh pushes. Unprepared and fast he sets their pace. Firm and violent. Jhin has the feeling that with every movement he makes, he's now penetrating deeper into him. Over and over again.

His legs open to him and surrender to feel more of him. The inner desire to pay tribute to his satisfaction and to satisfy the devastating hunger within him forces him to do so. Jhin surrenders. Perfectly, completely and unconditionally. "More", he gasps between his unrestrained sounds.

For the moment, it seems to him, Thresh prefers to pay little attention to his presumptuous and greedy request. Then he gives a sinister, disapproving growl. Without slowing his pace or even considering stopping, he digs his teeth hastily and very roughly into the soft part of his neck. With a tearing down mixture of pure shock and shrill pain, Jhin screams. "How cheeky of you," Thresh tells him to understand with a smoky voice, but still follows his desires uninhibitedly; then he pushes harder and stronger into him. Iron and hardly tolerating a room for resistance, he holds him prisoner in his grip.

Submissive and at his mercy throughout, Jhin doesn't have much freedom or support to resist the increasing cruelty. The brutal, untiring beat of his dominance, driven by pain and desire, prompts him to set a tone that comes very close to a submissive and tormented howl. Thresh makes no effort to make sure that he's unharmed because of his gruesome exclamation. Instead, he releases one of the hands from his hips to drive between his open thighs. Demandingly, his fingers embrace him; absurdly loving and excessively tender, he begins to irritate him. Deep and gentle. His caresses stand in such disproportionate contrast to his merciless rhythm.

Flooded with intoxication, Jhin isn't able to do anything else than to submit to the wave. He's hopelessly pushed to the abyss. His pelvis twitches and trembles uncontrollably as he dares to push unbridledly into the coolness of his hand. Between a tortured groan, he dares to hear the dark, soft laughter of satisfaction and pleasure. "Come with me." Thresh's voice trembles; hot and humid it runs down his neck and makes him shiver. Overwhelmed and eaten up, he surrenders. At the peak of his climax, he pours himself out violently. Thresh follows him with a tired and exhausted sounding wheeze and fills him almost to the brim.

Jhin swings; his head turns. In front of his eyes the colours flow into each other confused and blurred. He has the feeling of powerlessness to be very close. Carefully and slowly Thresh withdraws from him. Suddenly Jhin feels noticeably uncomfortable; the burgeoning feeling of dreadful and horrible discomfort he suspects behind the emptiness that just surrounds him. He feels his arms gently and tightly wrapped around him to give him support. "Stay with me." His voice is nothing more than a soft whisper in his ears. Jhin blinks forcedly and persistently against the dizziness. Irritated and accompanied by a tiny spark of suspicion of the unusual reversal of his otherwise so bestial and raw mind, he pulls his forehead into deep wrinkles. The impulse to elude him is pushed through the veil of his dizziness; not only because of his sudden change, but also because of the flaming hypersensitivity of his body, as if it were on fire, peppered with broken glass. He was disgracefully deceived by his sudden fatigue, but he did not find the strength to resist it. Without much protest and with little reluctance, he lets himself sink into the pillows with him.

Testing, Thresh drives his tongue over the place of his maltreated neck, reigniting the gently ebbing pain. Jhin hastily flinches and withdraws as far as he allows. Above him, Thresh draws his forehead into deep furrows with a critical look. "Did I hurt you too much?" It sounds credibly worried, even if this could benefit his not quite accountable state of exhaustion. He's truly not sure whether the sudden attack of his caring is the result of sincerity. At the moment it is almost irrelevant to him. He wants to believe him.

His whole body feels like it's one pulsating pain. He's terribly cold. He trembles and shivers. "No", he answers after a while of silence and breathes in deeply. "Why do you ask?" From the corner of his eyes he notices how Thresh carefully wraps them in one of the blankets. "You are a human being." Jhin is distracted by the obviousness of this statement, even though he's well aware that the answer will be based on something much more than the simple essentials. Thresh pats his head with an appeasingly loving gesture and then lifts his expression to an ambiguous, entrenched smile. "Mortals break apart so quickly."

Close to the restful sleep, he falls into a dusky and maudlin state of amusement. Thresh takes the time to stroke the maltreated parts of his body. So lovingly gentle and prudently tender that it makes him shudder. Each of his touches burns; his kisses tickle him. Then he pauses and embeds his head on his chest; from his throat comes a contented, blissful murmur. In the few lights of the candles, it almost seems as if a bliss has befallen him that hasn't surrounded him for an indescribable eternity. Tired, Jhin raises one of his hands to comb through his ruffled hair. Between his fingers it feels strangely dull and brittle, like wire. Rusty and hard.

Sluggish and tame, Thresh nestles up to him; almost sated and with a trustfulness that would suggest submissiveness if Jhin didn't know better. For a while they remain silent. He hears the wind howling in front of the windows; the sound of the wind sweeping through branches and dead leaves and whipping through every corner of the country. Jhin gently and carefully pulls himself into a dusky half-sleep. "You know", Thresh begins quietly and tears him out of the leaden veil back into the present. "Your soul belongs to me and now also your body", he continues gently. It is certainly not just a simple statement that he casually makes of himself. In his voice, no matter how soft and sweet it sounds, rests the relentless and imperious tone of this cruel and vicious monster that tolerates no contradiction. Ruthless. Loveless. Raw. It is a promise. Perhaps it should also be a warning to him; dark and malicious. Nevertheless, Jhin cannot help but raise his lips to a knowing, fickle smile because of his words. He gently loosens his fingers from his hair and caresses his cheek with sweetness and indulgence. From half-open eyes he sees how Thresh, tired and confused, loops a brow because of his gesture. "Yes", he agrees without hesitation, before he can even begin to scold him for his disrespectful behaviour. Yes, he knows. He knows it since the day they first met, and even if fate had given him a choice, if this monster had been less moody and more willing, he would have taken that risk.

"And your heart belongs to me."

He keeps it in a glass jar on his table.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote that for the beautiful and lovely Nyx; sadly we broke apart.


End file.
